


Belial's Fall

by SavioBriion



Series: Freedom to be Owned [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Murder Mysteries - Neil Gaiman, The Bible
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavioBriion/pseuds/SavioBriion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PG13, 2010. A look at the angel Beliel, his friendship with Lucifer, and how he eventually became the demon Belial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belial's Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Belial is another roleplay character of mine, and so I wrote this to explore his backstory. While he is a character from apocrypha, Milton and demonology, this version of him is mine, as is Gabriel. Lucifer is a mishmash of both Gaiman's Murder Mysteries and Mike Carey's Lucifer comics, Carasel and Saraquael are from Murder Mysteries, and Gadre'el/Crowley is from Gaiman's and Pratchett's Good Omens.

  _It would have been inaccurate to say that Belial had never meant to Fall; he had. He just hadn’t known what it was like, at the time; what it would feel like, what it entailed. What he would Fall ** _from_**. _

   He’d always been mischievous, even when working under Sachluph in the Hall of Being; the pale Virtue with the blue-green eyes and impish grin had been gifted, and curious, and had loved his work.

   The greenhouse near the top of the Hall of Being is, perhaps, one of his favourite places in Heaven; the golden light is shining through the glass panels, bathing the silver beams and his verdant surroundings in a soft glow. He touches the plant closest to him, gently caressing its leaves; it leans towards him, vines extending to softly wrap around his arm, leaves now brushing his cheek. Like all the creations in the Hall, Beliel can sense His Presence within it, an inner glow he can feel rather than see, and he luxuriates in it. Leaves rustle around him, and he closes his eyes.

He opens them and stands straight abruptly as he hears the door open, expecting Sachluph or perhaps Gadre’el; his eyes widen as the bright Morningstar himself steps through. It is the first time he has seen the Second of the Lord up close.

    Lucifer is gloriously beautiful; he wears only a simple, unadorned robe and his sword, for he needs no other ornamentation. His face is framed by fair curls, and a small, curious smile curls his lips. When he speaks, his voice is soft and almost musical.

    “I did not know anyone was here; the Hall is usually almost empty by this time. Am I intruding?”

    He shakes his head silently and Lucifer closes the door and moves further into the greenhouse, looking at the Virtue curiously. The smile becomes amused as he takes in the vine wrapped around him. “You work with plants, then? What is your name?”

    Beliel swallows. “Beliel.” Though that first part should have been obvious, he can’t help but think; if he did not work with plants, he would not hold such sway over them.

    Lucifer nods. “Beliel. I think Gabriel has mentioned you; Sachluph is pleased with you and Gadre’el, it seems.”

    The Virtue nods, blushing a little. “I am honoured.” Who would not be, to know that the Morningstar and Messenger have talked of him? Smiling, he makes a small gesture and laughs at the look of surprise on Lucifer’s face as another vine snakes across the Morningstar’s shoulders, green leaves brushing lightly against golden curls and pale skin.

    Lucifer smiles back, reaching up to touch the leaves. He is a little surprised, and not just by the plant; most angels would have been too in awe of the Second to behave like this. He studies the leaves for a moment, fingers tracing the delicate spiderweb of tiny veins barely visible against the light, before looking back at Beliel. His eyes are a deep gold, the Virtue notices, but not quite like plant sap. “You spend a lot of time here?”

    Beliel nods. “After Gadre’el leaves to rest, it is… like a sanctum for me.”

   “Understandable. I have seen the other greenhouses, but I think this is the most beautiful. I would not want to intrude, though, if it is private.”

    “No, not at all!” He shook his head. “You could come here whenever you wish.”

    Lucifer smiles further. “Thank you, Beliel.”

  *

    Lucifer does come back occasionally. He enters the greenhouse after everyone else has gone, and sometimes Beliel shows him the new blueprints and prototypes. Sometimes Lucifer speaks fondly of the other Archangels. Other times, he speaks of the other creations in the Hall. Beliel had never given much thought to them, focusing on Plants, but the Morningstar awakens curiosity in him. He finds himself leaving the greenhouse more often during his breaks, wandering among the mezzanine galleries and talking to other angels about their creations.

    Once Lucifer brings Gabriel there, just as Beliel is checking what should be the final version of the lily flower. The Messenger is polite, but somewhat restrained; he too is beautiful, but it is Lucifer who draws everyone to him. The Morningstar reminds him of fire, while Gabriel makes him think of ice. Still, he seems to like the lilies, and Lucifer laughs at the look on his face as he inhales their scent.

  “I told you he was gifted.”

  “He is,” Gabriel agrees, smiling at him. Lucifer holds a lily up next to his face, soft creamy petals next to pale skin, and looks thoughtful.

    “It reminds me of you,” he laughs. “Pale and delicate.”

    Gabriel hits his arm lightly, and for some reason as Beliel watches the easy familiarity between them, there is a stab of something unidentifiable in his gut.

  *

    Sometimes the Host flies past the Hall of Being, and is just visible from the greenhouses. They fly through the air in a formation Beliel can never quite make out; it is fluid, each angel never in the same position within the ranks for more than a few moments. Their bright swords trail flames in the air behind them, leaving momentary afterimages in Beliel’s vision. It is usually late by the time they fly past, and they form a brilliant contrast against the dark sapphire or amethyst or pewter skies above them. Lucifer is always distinctive, the brightest angel of them all, with only Michael approaching his brilliance; when not at the head of the formation he is hovering just below them, occasionally directing them when dissatisfied.

    Eventually Beliel finds himself wishing that he could draw, that he could produce images beyond the simple diagrams his function requires of him. He reminds himself that he is not to question his purpose, and tries not to think about it.

  *

    On one of his walks, he enters the office of Carasel and Saraquael. The two of them are standing so close, at a table; each holds a tiny mannequin in one hand. They look up at his soft knock on the half-open door. Saraquael looks almost as though Beliel has intruded on something, but Carasel smiles at him. “Can I help you?”

    Beliel shrugs. “Only if I am not bothering you. Might I know about what you are working on?”

    Carasel beams; his face seems to be lit up more than usual. “One of the Emotions. Love.”

    Beliel tilts his head curiously. “Love?”

    “A complex higher emotion,” Saraquael cuts in, rolling up the diagram they had been looking at. “It is not easy to define, and we are still working on it -”

    Carasel cuts him off, opening the door wider to invite Beliel in. “Would you like to hear about it?”

    Beliel nods eagerly. “What were those mannequins for?” At his question, a look passes between Carasel and Saraquael, so fleeting that he is unsure if he really saw it. After a moment Carasel answers.

    “Physical expressions of Love. There is such a wide range!” He gesticulates as he talks, enthusiasm evident in his voice, and Beliel cannot help but smile. “There are tiny gestures of affection, and gifts, and as for the ultimate physical expression… well, we are working on it. But it is the biggest project we have been given, and while Phanuel does not think it important, I think it will be very important.”

    Saraquael moves to Carasel’s side and Carasel, seemingly unconsciously, wraps an arm around his shoulders as he continues to talk – something about it not being restricted to male and female, but Beliel only has a vague understanding of Gender.

    “We are not even finished,” Saraquael admonishes him gently. “We should not be getting ahead of ourselves.”

    “Of course.” Carasel smiles at Saraquael, who smiles back, and something about them – their posture, the nearly identical looks on their faces – makes Beliel feel strangely warm, and as though he is intruding on something private or sacred. He excuses himself.

  *

    He and Gadre’el are experimenting with thorns on roses when the door opens and Lucifer strides in. His face is oddly wet. “Beliel.”

   The quietness of his voice surprises Beliel. “Is something wrong, sir?”

   “Do you remember telling me of Carasel and Saraquael?”

    The Virtue nods. “Yes. What of it? How was the reaction to their project?” He winces, then, at the look in Lucifer’s eyes.

    “They are both dead,” Lucifer says softly. “Saraquael killed Carasel and was killed in his turn by Raguel, the Vengeance of the Lord.”

    Beliel gasps; beside him, Gadre’el knocks over a pot in shock. Soil splatters their robes, seeds scattered across the floor. “Why?”

    Lucifer leans over the table, hands gripping the edges so hard that tiny hairline cracks spread from his fingers. “Love. They were in love. Saraquael was jealous that Carasel no longer returned his feelings when they began working on Death, and killed him; he did a wrong thing, but he should not have been killed. Not for feeling a higher emotion, becoming something beyond what he was created to be.”

    Gadre’el hesitantly speaks up. “But how can we change what He made us?” He shrinks back, then, at the sudden hardness of Lucifer’s face.

    “There has to be a way.” He gazes up through the greenhouse walls, to the edge of the City. Beliel tentatively places a hand on his shoulder.

    “Maybe you should talk to Gabriel, sir?”

    Lucifer looks at him for a moment before shrugging his hand off. “I did. He accepts it as the Lord’s Will, as he accepts anything and everything. He refuses to even consider that it might not have been right, it might not have been _just_.” His voice is cold when speaking of Gabriel, and oddly, it makes a tendril of something warm blossom within Beliel.

    “Perhaps you should as well?” Gadre’el suggests, quailing immediately at the look Lucifer shoots him. After a moment, the Morningstar straightens and turns back to Beliel.

  “I cannot accept this as His Will. Saraquael’s death was unjust.”

  “But does not everything happen in accordance to His Plan? Nothing can happen if He does not will it so.”

  A pause. Then, “Perhaps I cannot accept the Plan, then. I apologise for intruding and interrupting your work.” And the Morningstar leaves as abruptly as he came.

    The two Virtues look at each other for a moment. Finally, Gadre’el kneels and begins to clean up the mess. He scoops up the soil in his hands, and Beliel kneels to proffer a new pot.

  “I do not understand,” Gadre’el murmurs, tipping the soil into the pot. “How can one move beyond their function? He created us, after all, for specific purposes.” He frowns at the seeds he is picking up, at the soft pitter-patter sound they make when dropped into another container. “Look at the seeds. We design them to grow into a specific type of plant, and they do so. They simply cannot do anything else – the poppies cannot grow into roses - and wanting to do so is futile.”

    “But we are not seeds,” Beliel points out. “They cannot think. He must have made us this way for a reason; He gave us the ability to think, to wonder, to question. And now I wonder _why_. I met Carasel and Saraquael. You should have seen them – they shared something, something special. It cannot have been wrong, Gadre’el; whatever they felt, the way it made them look at each other… it cannot have been wrong.”

  “But if the Lord’s judgement was wrong…” Gadre’el straightens up and places the containers on their worktable, before returning to his position prior to Lucifer’s entrance. Pale fingers stroke the petals of their rose prototype before gingerly moving down over the stem, skimming over the thorns. He looks up at Beliel, amber eyes shadowed.

    Beliel nods. “Then _He_ is wrong.”

  *

    All over the Hall of Being, projects are nearing completion and the huge model of the universe in the middle is beginning to look more complete. There are discordant notes in the low, excited susurrus that fills the Hall, however; the fate of Carasel and Saraquael has stirred up unease in many angels.

    Most of the Virtues are clustered around one of the topmost galleries, watching a stunning display of the final version of the aurora borealis. Beliel slips away before it ends; he had spent the previous day helping install a park in the Silver City, and he wants to see it again. Its openness, with the wind rustling the leaves and the lack of walls, is so different from the greenhouse he is used to.

     He frowns slightly as he approaches the park; he can just make out two bright figures near the very edge, which is near the edge of the City itself. It is Lucifer and Gabriel, he realises as he draws nearer; they seem to be disagreeing about something. As he watches, Gabriel steps back, refusing Lucifer’s outstretched hand, and flies away.

    Why would he do that? Beliel knows that he would have followed Lucifer anywhere. He lands softly, folding silvery wings back, and warily approaches the Morningstar.

    “Sir?”

     Lucifer turns, looking surprised, and Beliel wants to look away from the pain evident on the Second’s face. “Beliel. What are you doing here – ah, yes, you would have helped create this place. Are you checking on it?”

    Beliel shrugs. “Not really. I simply wanted to see it.” He hesitates for a moment. “Is everything alright, sir?” he hazards.

    Lucifer smiles, but there is no true mirth in it. “No.”

    Tentatively, Beliel places a hand on his shoulder. The smile Lucifer gives him then seems a little more genuine. “I suppose you could say that Gabriel and I disagreed on some things. I love him dearly, but he is blinded by his own love for the Lord; he would have me accept every single thing as part of His Plan, and so forgive it. I cannot. I was made to recognise what was just and what was not, and His Judgment was not just.”

    Beliel simply nods. “I do not think it just, either. And if it was part of a larger Plan, then that Plan is not infallible.”

    Lucifer turns his head, gaze fixed on the Dark that surrounds the City.  “And yet we are all part of it. I do not want to be a part of such a Plan, Beliel. I want freedom from it.”

  *

    For six Days and Nights – such a strange concept, Time – the assembled Host of Heaven has been singing, surrounded by stars that still pale in comparison to their own light, as Yahweh brings Creation into being. On the sixth day, He creates the first of the beings who will inhabit this new Creation and all the things they have worked so hard to make, and He names him Adam.

    “ **Bow before him.** ”

    Beliel watches as four of the Archangels bow first; Lucifer, however, remains standing straight, tall and proud.

  “Why should I, Father? I am better than he. You made me from fire and him from clay.”

    Michael draws his sword.

  *

    Beliel has never had to fight before; he is a Virtue, a designer, not one of the Cherubim or Seraphim. But as he finds himself surrounded by clashing angels, as armour-clad warriors rush at him, he has to defend himself; he ducks and lunges and grabs a weapon from a fallen angel and waves it about in the best approximation he can manage of what he has seen the Host do.

    Above them Michael and Lucifer fight, swords moving so fast they are only a flaming blur. Michael had stepped forward and formally challenged Lucifer on God's behalf; Lucifer had responded by swinging his own sword. Thus the Battle had broken out as the Host split, rallying behind Michael and Lucifer, and Beliel can see that Lucifer’s army is vastly outnumbered.

    Beliel bumps into Gadre’el, also swinging a stolen weapon, and grins at him. “No more unfinished statements?”

    Gadre’el shakes his head before parrying the blow of a blond Cherub, and Beliel turns back to defend himself –

   - and watches in horror as Lucifer’s sword is knocked from his hands.

  *

    Uriel’s eyes are cold, and for a moment Beliel vaguely wonders why he has a sword when he was never part of the warriors, and then the blade comes down on his link to the Presence.

    As he Falls, the worst pain is not the burning of his wings or against his skin. It is the slow burning away of the Presence within him, agonisingly slow, leaving only dark emptiness.

    He screams.

    Then comes the impact.

  *

    As Beliel finally regains the ability to take note of something that is not the pain, he gasps at the sheer, stifling heat. He sits up slowly, taking in his surroundings. Nothing grows here; it is cavernous, empty, red rock and shifting shadows, and a foul stench pervades the entire place.

    He turns to look at Lucifer and shudders; the Morningstar’s eyes are almost as empty as their surroundings. He looks at Beliel for a moment as though he does not recognise him.

  “How Fallen, how changed you are,” Lucifer murmurs. His ethereal beauty is unchanged, though there are a few smears of dirt and blood on his skin and armour, and Beliel stares at him for a moment before taking in their surroundings again and the many Fallen angels lying around them. He wraps his arms around himself, trying to make up for the emptiness, the loss of the glow of the Presence that had once sustained him.

    Lucifer gets to his feet, slightly unsteadily, and Beliel follows.

  *

  He remembers having worked with plants, once; now he oversees the building of an entire city. Lucifer has given him the Northern Realm and left the plans to him, the ex-designer. Many of the angels – no, not angels, demons – have altered their appearances, and he grimaces as a grotesque form skulks past with a rolled-up plan tucked under one arm, if he can even call the diseased appendages that. He himself looks the same, albeit darker; the idea of taking on such a form is repulsive.

    A messenger informs him that Lord Lucifer wants to see him, and he makes his way to the crude temporary palace.

    Lucifer turns away from Azazel, smiling at Beliel as he approaches him. “Beliel. We have matters to discuss, I believe.” His gaze is almost… appreciative, Beliel thinks, and he rather likes it. “I have been thinking about ranks, functions, titles.”

    Beliel nods. “I would prefer Belial, Lord. I gave up all right to bear the name of El in my own name.”

    Lucifer tilts his chin up. “Very well. Inform Beelzebub on your way out.” He frowns slightly, fingers stroking Belial’s chin lightly, before beginning to smile. “As to your tasks, I think I am beginning to have an idea.”

    Belial leans into the touch. “Do explain, Lord.” He has forsaken God, given up his name, for Lucifer, and now Lucifer is the only person he will address as such.

    “How obedient, and how pretty.” Lucifer smiles. “Come with me, Belial.”

 The demon Belial nods his head in assent, and follows Lucifer.


End file.
